*DISCLAIMER* Due to the detailed and graphic nature of this post it is not recommended for the following groups of people: anyone who has not experienced childbirth, anyone who has not witnessed childbirth, anyone who has witnessed childbirth and did not make it through the experience with their last meal intact, anyone who has recently given birth and is still “postpartum,” anyone who frequently uses the expression “TMI.” All others, proceed with caution. :)
*DISCLAIMER 2* Due to the lengthy nature of this post, you may want to read in installments so as not to fall asleep from too much reading.
Well it's been quite a while since I last even looked at this thing. But a whooooole lot has happened since then. . . .
Zimbabwe was great. We had a lot of fun there and did some truly amazing things. . . . including make a baby! I think that's why I quit posting for the last little while that we were there. I was feeling really yucky. Nauseous really isn't the word for it. Everything just smelled and tasted foreign and I could never find anything that made my stomach happy. It kind of spoiled the last part of the trip for me because I just wasn't up for roaming the bush for hours at a time. Needless to say I was glad to get back home to my Subway and Cheerios.
We spent some time with my family in the East, made a quick stop at David’s grandparents in California and then were back in Hawaii. There’s nothing like that first breath of sweet Hawaiian air when you come off the plane. Smells like home. We eventually moved into our lovely little 2-bedroom apartment on the Point where we currently reside.
I had decided long ago that when we had a baby it would be at home, health and circumstance permitting. While I was pregnant I would occasionally be asked what hospital I planned to give birth in. When I shared my plans to do it at home I got a variety of reactions from admiration to strong disapproval but the most common seemed to be slightly raised eyebrows and “well, if anyone can do it you can.” From this oft-repeated comment I had to assume that people thought I was possessed of some kind of extreme bravery to attempt such a thing. However, I have to admit that this decision had nothing to do with being brave. If anything, it had roots in my fear and distrust of hospitals and doctors. Give me unmedicated labor any day, but tell me I have to have a C-Section and I may have a meltdown. Seriously. Any of you ladies out there who labored and delivered in a hospital . . . . you guys are the brave ones as far as I’m concerned, C-Section or not.
So in addition to my possibly irrational fear of hospitals, I also just felt like it would be easier to give birth in the comfort and privacy of my own home. If you want to discuss it in depth, give me a call and we can delve deeper into my reasons. . . but anyway, just thought people might be interested to hear about how it actually went. So, here goes.
Once I hit 36 weeks and I was technically full-term I was so ready to not be pregnant any more. It may or may not have anything to do with the seemingly magical appearance of a few little stretch marks. . . but only on the left side. Seriously, they were not there when I went to bed one night, and then they were there the next morning. It also may or may not have had anything to do with the sugar-restrictive diet my midwife put me on. . . . which I was failing spectacularly at anyway.
Week 37 rolled by, and week 38. On the last day of week 38, which happened to be a Sunday and the day after the full moon (some people say there’s a correlation) David and I took a bike ride back in the farms and hauled our butts up the hill to the water tower, in hopes of moving things along. Any of you who have been there know the hill I’m referring to. It’s at least a 45 degree incline, possibly more, and we were both wheezing by the time we made it to the top. But no magical onset of labor as I was hoping for. So we headed back home, had a nice Sunday dinner and went to bed expecting nothing out of the ordinary.
At midnight my water broke. It was a distinct popping feeling with a trickle of warm liquid (ew). I was instantly wide awake and knew exactly what happened. I waddled to the bathroom, leaking all the way and sat on the toilet for a while contemplating the unknown road ahead. I have to admit I was mostly excited, and a little bit scared but in a kind of thrilled conspiratorial way. Like the kind of scared/excited feeling you feel as a kid when you sneak out of your bedroom at night down to the kitchen for a fridge raid.
After a while I figured I should lie down and try to get some sleep for the supposedly long and tiring work ahead. I strapped on a Depends and climbed back into bed. I woke David up and told him my water broke. I asked him “Are you excited to be a Dad?” He said “I’m more excited now that something’s happening.” I wasn’t sure what that meant but I tried to close my eyes and relax. Maybe 5 or 10 minutes later I started having little contractions, although at first I wasn’t sure that’s even what they were. They just felt like little tremors in my lower belly. . . like when you do too many pull-ups and your arms start to tremble.
Towards morning the contractions started to feel a little different. . . still the same tremor-y feeling, but accompanied by a kind of warm, dull discomfort. Not really pain. Every time one would come I would consciously relax my whole body and picture my cervix opening around the baby’s head. I don’t know that the whole visualization thing actually worked but I think being relaxed and in my own place, free to move around or get a drink or snack at will, surf facebook, rock in my rocking chair and enjoy the constant breeze probably did.
At some point my body decided it would be best if everything I had ever eaten in my life were to be deposited in the toilet, and who was I to argue? In the hospital they used to (and in some cases still do) give laboring women enemas. At least in this category I definitely think my way was better.
The midwife, Dr Lori arrived around 11 am. She asked if I wanted her to check to see how much progress I’d made, qualifying the question with something about it sometimes being discouraging for first-timers to find out that they have been laboring for hours and are only at a 2 or 3. I wanted to know anyway, and we were all shocked to discover that I was already 7cms dilated. I was still able to talk through contractions, or sit still and relax through them, though they were getting more uncomfortable.
An hour or two passed, Heidi the doula suggested we go for a walk down the gentle hill to Foodland and back up again while Dr Lori filled the birth tub, which I didn’t actually intend giving birth in. So we walked and returned feeling not a whole lot different, although every once in a while there would be a real whopper of a contraction and I’d have to stop walking and just be still or hang onto David and rock a little. Once home I hung out on the toilet for a short while and started to feel real pain. It was harder to sit still and I felt fidgety and anxious for it to be over.
So I came out of the bathroom and decided maybe I’d give the tub a try. Just for labor, of course. . . I still planned for the main event to happen on solid ground. I had Dr Lori check me before I got in. She looked at me with a somewhat puzzled face and asked “Are you sure you don’t feel like pushing at all?” I said no. . . I didn’t think so anyway. She announced that my cervix was completely dilated and the baby was just waiting to come down. It was at this point that I got a little nervous. Was I really ready for that? Was that really what I wanted? Was I sure I was ready to be a parent? Mostly questions that were very much superfluous and beyond the point. But can you expect a woman in labor to be thinking rationally? Probably not.
So I decided to get in the tub anyway, feeling nothing like a pushing urge. I felt the steaming hot water and asked if it was too hot. . . but Dr Lori assured me it was fine. So I stepped in cautiously. As soon as both my feet were in the tub the contractions started getting harder and stronger. When I sank to my knees (slowly and with much help from David) and my belly was submerged I discovered what the “pushing urge” really felt like. Kind of a combination of the inexorable convulsive sensation that accompany throwing up or having explosive diarrhea. A deep muscular squeezing that you just have to push along with.
So I pushed. And yelled. A lot. No words, just really loud yelling. And I was grateful that it was 2 pm on a Monday. My midwife had related stories of labors that were visited by the cops, called out by a neighbor worried that a murder might be taking place, and I’m glad that I didn’t have to deal with that. And I’m sure the cops are too. I vaguely remember David whispering in my ear to calm down, words which meant nothing to me at the time and which I now have to laugh at. . . He’s just lucky I wasn’t the angry husband-beating type of laboring lady or he probably would have gotten a black eye for his remark.
At some point when I was having trouble holding my head up it was suggested that I turn around and sit/squat instead of kneeling. David got in the tub to help support me from behind, though this meant that he wouldn’t be able to catch the baby when the time came. I can really say at this point that I was thinking nothing. Nothing at all. Just pushing and resting, pushing and resting. And of course, yelling. After much hollering and pushing and resting, the baby’s head finally made it out. Ouch. And there we rested for a minute or so. I reached down to feel his/her head and David was kind enough to remind me not to poke the eyes out. I guess maybe I sounded more frantic and out-of-control than I actually was.
I pushed a few more times with no discernible progress and so Dr Lori intervened. She announced that this baby had nice, big shoulders and was definitely stuck. So with deft fingers (and much yelling and pushing) she dislodged the stuck shoulder (double ouch) and the rest of the baby’s body shot out much in the same manner as a shaken bottle of soda when the lid comes off. Dr Lori caught the baby and immediately landed it on my chest, like a little fish out of water.
The baby had the most endearing look of consternation and surprise on her smushed purple face as she looked at me with bright twinkly little eyes. She had the most gorgeous cupid’s bow lips and the longest, pinkest tongue I had ever seen. Her abundant dark hair was plastered to her head in baby lamb fashion and I gave her her first kiss despite the coating of vernix. It was instant love. I rubbed her back and eventually she took her first breath and let out a bubbly little cry. And I cried too. A lot. A few minutes passed in rapturous tears. I was so busy being in love that I forgot to even check to see if we had a boy or a girl. Dr Lori couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. She lifted one of the baby’s legs and asked what was there. I already knew she was a girl, but this confirmed it.
After a while the umbilical cord stopped pulsing and David got to cut it. It was really weird realizing that she was no longer attached to my body. David got out of the tub and I handed her off to him, which felt even weirder, and pushed the placenta out. Yuck. The water soon resembled something from one of those Jaws movies and I decided it was time to get out. When I stood up to get out of the tub I felt dizzy and short of breath. I eventually was able to roll out of the tub onto the couch and lay there loving our little girl.
Dr Lori had to leave to attend another birth elsewhere on the island but promised to return to assess the damage and make necessary repairs. It didn’t much matter to me at the time. . .
Dr Lori’s assistant stayed with us and eventually suggested I try to go to the bathroom. I held onto David’s shoulder on the way there, still feeling weak and dizzy. My bodily functions completed, I decided to make a move on my own. I tried to stand up from the toilet and lost my vision, so I sank down to my knees and rested my head on the floor in a most undignified position. But hey, it was comfortable and I could see again. From this spot I put myself in another Depends and called for reinforcements. David came to the rescue and I asked him to carry me into the bedroom, damsel-in-distress style.
He held me under the arms and I tried to stand while he hoisted me up. I made it about halfway to my feet and felt myself lose consciousness. I woke up on the floor to see the door opened and Dr Lori’s assistant telling our family (who David had called earlier) that they would have to come back later. As I was sprawled on the floor in nothing but a Depends it was probably the right call to make.
It was decided that I should try to crawl into the bedroom to keep my head on level with my heart, and so like some kind of strange diapered four-legged creature I made the journey to the bedroom where I was restored to a semblance of dignity and modesty.
Dr Lori returned later that evening and played seamstress to my nether regions. She said I would probably have been fine without stitches but would just give me a couple quick ones anyway. For this part of the proceedings I did NOT go unmedicated and was indeed grateful for whoever invented local anesthesia.
The family was again called over to see me in bed, comfy and at least clothed, if not completely glowingly beautiful, none the wiser about the less-than-dignified manner in which I got there.
Weeks later we decided on a name: Zalea Sage Paddock. She is the center of our universe now and although being a mom really really hard some days (how does anyone ever have more than one?), I can’t imagine life without Baby Z. She’s a little over 2 months now and growing at an impressive pace. Born 7lb 2oz she’s now over 12lb. Her face has filled out and she’s begun to smile at random, but especially after diaper-changes and bathtime, or any other time she gets to be naked. There used to be only one sound in her repertoire. . . the grating newborn cry that makes you want to jump out of your skin. But now she’s making all kinds of noises. She has the frustrated squeal, the happy squeak, the raspberry blow, the I’m-hungry cry, the I’m-mad-because-I-can’t-sit-up cry, the tired cry and a bunch of happy cooing sort of noises.
It’s been quite the crazy ride so far and we’re only just beginning. . . .
